


the hardest thing is never to repent for someone else

by gonta



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Backstory, F/M, Fluff and Angst, No Spoilers, POV Third Person, because very little info is given, but their portrayal is based off of inferences, the other main chara here is canon, unless you count FTE spoilers haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 04:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11283861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonta/pseuds/gonta
Summary: "You can't... you can't smoke those in here," he insisted, ogling the cigarette between her fingers.She sighed, somewhat exasperated, or maybe a bit bored. "Life's pretty short. If I'm gonna become the kind of person who hangs out on bleachers and smokes shitty cigarettes, I might as well do it now."-Hoshi's hands shook as he rubbed them raw, trying to get rid of blood that wasn't there. Life's pretty short, he thought.





	the hardest thing is never to repent for someone else

**Author's Note:**

> [6/23/17, 3:32:51 PM] Kirby ☆彡: alternative title: "Hi I'm Ryouma Hoshi, extremely depressed and incredibly bisexual, and welcome to jackass."
> 
> The scenario and much of the events that take place in this story were all lifted from Hoshi's Free Time Events. Any inaccuracies are due to the fact that at the time of writing this, there has not been a direct translation that I can reference. I am going off of summaries and information that I got from multiple people who played the original Japanese version of the game. 
> 
> [EDIT 6/30: I found out that a lot of this is inaccurate, and for that I apologize. I don't plan on rewriting this to fit the more accurate information about Hoshi's FTEs, though - this took long enough to write already.]
> 
> With that, I hope you enjoy!

Hoshi never had any reason to feel grateful for Japanese bullet trains before. They’d never been of particular importance to him, and they still weren’t - they merely served as a way to get from place to place fast, and nothing more. In fact, the experience was usually rather unpleasant, considering the fact that the train cars typically had about as much wiggle room as a can of sardines that contained an extra fish. He’d often find himself gasping for breath once he managed to free himself from the mass of passengers and exit the train, usually being pushed out in such a way that would be accompanied by a comical  _ pop _ if he were in a cartoon.

But at least bullet trains were clean. And compared to the dingy subway car he had been sitting in for the past ten minutes, he probably could have eaten off the floor of one. 

The floor that his feet were dangling above was a pattern that could only be described as “black with sporadically placed splotches on it in order to hide anything that spilled on it”, but not even that moniker was really accurate. He could still see plain as day remnants of soda spills and of substances whose origins he didn’t particularly want to think about. Trash had been haphazardly kicked under the seats across from him, which themselves were scuffed by years of other people’s feet kicking against them. Hoshi tried desperately not to think about the subway’s general filthiness. With his luck, he was probably getting an STD just by sitting there. 

But he still wasn’t familiar enough with the city’s layout to be able to walk to school (it was only the first day for him, though it was still strange to him how it started in September), and he figured that the subway was probably the best option if he wanted to get there in time. His watch told him that it was pretty early in the morning, so the few other people in the car were either businessmen or students like himself. Hoshi rubbed his eyes, trying to keep himself awake - time zones were still screwing him over. He only had two stops before he reached his destination, and falling asleep on the subway would not be the greatest way to start the school year.

The train skidded to a stop, and the doors slid open. A steady stream of people flowed in and out of the car. The automated voice that announced the names of the stops barely registered as he stared off into space, swinging his legs back and forth absentmindedly. He was soon snapped out of this trance, however, by the arrival of a strange presence in the seat next to him.

He’d put his backpack on the seat to his right, believing that it would be a good enough indicator that he preferred to be left alone. At the time, he was a very social person, but even  _ he _ didn’t do very well in the morning. He’d failed to account for the seat to his left, though, or for the girl who had plunked herself down there like it was nobody’s business.

(To be fair, it probably wasn’t anybody’s business.)

Hoshi tried his best to get a good look at her out of the corner of his eye without seeming like a creeper, which was easier said than done. The girl had the kind of face that belonged to a popular girl, but her demeanor implied that her social standing was otherwise. A certain coldness permeated her very form, right down to her just-slightly-slumped posture. Her mouth was downturned in a frown, though not at anything in particular. An ocean of dyed blue hair was held back by her black headband, save for one rebellious strand that poked out in front of her face. Someone with a dirtier mind might have noticed the inches of milky skin that poked out between her knee socks and her skirt, but he wasn't particularly concerned with her crossed legs. He didn't think he could be, what with her rather intense face. 

Adjusting his cap so that his gaze was hidden, he watched as she dug around in her bag and pulled out a rumpled copy of a sports magazine and opened it to a dog-eared page somewhere in the middle. Nothing too interesting, he thought. He was about to turn away when she flipped the page, and he found himself staring back at him. 

It was just a picture, but it was clearly recognizable - he'd long come to terms with the fact that he didn't exactly look like an athlete. The article was something on international high school-age athletes, though he couldn't make it out entirely. Seeing oneself in a magazine was a strange experience even to him, so he turned away from it and tried to focus on other things. 

The announcer’s tinny voice intoned over the speakers that he'd reached his stop as the train screeched to a halt. Trying to get himself together, Hoshi slung his backpack over his shoulder - only to do it with such force that the water bottle he'd put in its side pouch flew out. 

He stepped back in disgruntled embarrassment as the bottle rolled across the floor - only to be stopped in its tracks under the sole of the girl’s clunky lace-up boots. He quickly snatched it out from under her shoe and jammed it back in the backpack, and was about to be on his merry way when he realized that she'd turned her pointed gaze to him. The mole under her eye almost distracted him from the fact that she looked as though she were trying to work out a complex riddle in her head. 

But then her eyes widened in recognition. 

The girl shot up straight, and he realized it was probably time for him to skedaddle out of there. She managed to get a “Wait, you’re-” out of her mouth, but he had already begun to run out of the train. Out of the corner of his perception he heard her shout “Hey!”, but he was already far gone. He supposed that that was one of the perks of being a professional athlete. You could make a fast getaway if you wanted to. 

Though it was definitely foolish of him, he hoped that the people at school recognized him slightly less than that girl had. 

 

* * *

 

Being stared at by spectators and cameramen was a much different situation than being stared at by a roomful of teenagers. That was the first thing Hoshi realized when the teacher called him up to the front of the class. Allegedly school had only started about a week ago for everyone else, but he still felt the need to have him introduce himself. Something about how people rarely studied abroad, that was their excuse. He'd shoved his hat in his bag before entering the building, so he really felt exposed. Naked, almost, as the students in the front rows scrutinized his shrunken form and the students in the back tried their hardest to do the same. 

He returned their stare with a pointed look, his fishlike eyes maximizing the effect, before he actually spoke. Though his English was a little accented, he was fairly fluent in it, so it wasn’t too much of an issue. 

“My name’s Ryoma Hoshi…” he casually scratched the back of his neck. “I’m from Osaka, Japan. I do tennis, I guess. I hope I can get closer to y’all.”

That last part sounded better in his head than out loud. 

 

* * *

 

Gym class proved disappointing, but not for the reasons that Hoshi was expecting. It wasn't that it was too easy, or that the other students didn't give him enough of a challenge. Those situations could have been the case, but if they were, he wouldn't know. 

The teacher had peered down at him, and managed to stop him in the doorway of the locker room before he could set foot inside. “Uhh… listen, kid,” he grumbled. Hoshi noticed that the guy had a bit of a paunch - strange trait for a gym teacher, but he wasn't one to judge. “You wouldn't happen to have brought gym clothes, would you?”

Oh. It would have to be something like that, wouldn't it. He could feel his already-rosy cheeks flushing redder with embarrassment, but he tried his hardest to keep his expression somewhat confident. “Uh, no. Guess I forgot,” he mumbled. In a way, it was true - he'd forgotten that this kind of school didn't provide any sort of uniforms. American education was already proving to be more informal than he was expecting. 

The guy’s expression turned sympathetic. “Can't play without ‘em. I'd let you borrow from the lost-and-found, but…” he trailed off, but Hoshi could very well understand his meaning from the way he peered down at him. 

“Ah.”

“Right. Just go sit on the bleachers for the period.”

At the time, he was someone with a bit of an arrogant streak that might have inspired him to argue. But he was also someone who was in no position to. So he worked his way over to the bleachers, attempting to garner as few stares as possible. Easier said than done, really. 

There were only a few stragglers hanging around the area, mainly girls who had decided they'd rather die than take off their heels. 

And with them, looking as sullen as ever, was the girl from the subway. A patterned folder rested on her thighs, and she occasionally stopped watching the students in the gym to scrawl something on it. Hoshi knew that it would probably be pretty awkward to sit with her, considering how he had sped off the train without another word. But it would be even more awkward to sit alone. 

Lesser of two evils, then. 

Climbing up the bleacher steps, he slid in next to the girl and gave her a gentle tap on the shoulder. “We gotta stop meeting like this,” he remarked, upturned lips forming a grin. 

The girl looked up from her folder for a second to look at him. He could have sworn that her expression changed, but before he could acknowledge it, it was back to normal. “Yeah, sure. Whatever,” she mumbled, kicking her feet against the back of the seat in front of her. 

Not exactly the response he was expecting, but okay. 

Hoshi made a decision to switch gears, in order to figure out exactly what was up with this girl. Tilting his head to the side, he continued speaking. “To be honest, I can't say I was expecting anyone to recognize me. You some kinda sports fan, or-”

“Meh, guess you could say that,” she shrugged. “I have cousins in Japan, too. So you're the tennis guy? Shouldn't you be… you know…” the girl made a vague gesture towards the rest of the gymnasium. 

“I, uh…” the look on his face took on a dejected air, and he scratched his head. “I forgot gym clothes.”

The girl nodded sagely. “Figures. Mr. Morris - the gym teacher, y’know - has such a huge stick stuck up his ass about that that you can take it out and play baseball with it. I just didn't put on mine because I'm ruddy at sports.”

“I… I see. Huh.”

“Actually, no. Here's a better question,” she turned her fairly intense gaze at him and cocked an eyebrow in suspicion. “What are you doing in this hellhole?”

“This school?”

“Nah, Manhattan.” the girl smirked. “It’s the pits for anyone but tourists, really.”

Hoshi leaned back on the bleacher, more at ease despite the girl’s clear hostility. “I'm tryin’ for the U.S. Open.”

“You're kidding me.”

“You think I'd joke about somethin’ like that?” 

She shrugged, and returned to scribbling on her paper. “I dunno. I just met you, anyway,” she mumbled. 

An awkward silence formed between them. Hoshi tried to watch the other students participate - they were doing dodgeball, which was a sport that he'd always thought was some form of capital punishment - but he kept getting distracted by the noises her pencil made as it ground itself down to a stub on her paper. 

After a while, he finally turned to her. “What are ya doing?” he questioned, nodding down at her folder. The notes on it were written in an incomprehensible scrawl that not even a native English speaker could read. 

Her only answer was “Stats.”

“Huh?”

“Like…” she jabbed her pencil in the direction of the dodgeball players. “There's a lot to unpack here. That girl over there, Gallagher, is on the gymnastics team,” Hoshi looked where she was pointing, and his eyes fell upon a lithe-looking girl who seemed to have little trouble maneuvering around the flurry of balls. “Not to mention the fact that the other team has Quaid, who broke his leg a few weeks ago, and Konigsberg, who's never been able to bench press more than eighty pounds.”

“I barely have any idea of what you just said, but alright.”

She scowled. “Just watch.” 

So he did just that, scrutinizing the players as they assailed each other with balls. Sure enough, the first team that the girl had described was the one with the last man standing. The gym teacher blew his whistle, bringing the game to a close, and Hoshi turned to the girl in awe. “How did you-”

She mumbled something, but it was lost on him due to the fact that her teeth were clenched. An unlit cigarette stuck out between them, and she was intensely concentrating on trying to light it with a disposable lighter. “Eugh…” she eventually gave up, stuck the it between two fingers, and tossed the lighter to him. “Do me a solid, tennis guy. Can you light this for me?”

“You can't… you can't smoke those in here,” he insisted, ogling the cigarette. 

She sighed, somewhat exasperated, or maybe a bit bored. "Life's pretty short. If I'm gonna become the kind of person who hangs out on bleachers and smokes shitty cigarettes, I might as well do it now."

“You're weird,” Hoshi stated, giving her a lopsided smile. Still, he flicked the wheel of the lighter until a flame erupted from it, and held it to her cigarette. 

Brushing her dyed hair back from her face, the girl put the end of the offending cigarette back between her teeth. She didn't look at him as she spoke. “Name’s Seia, by the way. Seia Kamio.”

He gave her a thumbs-up. “Ryoma Hoshi,” he responded. In that moment, he could have swore one of the corners of her lips turned up. 

 

* * *

 

Extracurricular tryouts usually weren’t something that he was concerned with - he’d join the tennis club every year, and usually wouldn’t go out for any other activity. The guys in his old school tennis club, weird as they were, at least knew him and they’d had sort of a thing going. And for all their strangeness (and for all the weird juice one of his upperclassmen had made the new members drink as a bizarre hazing ritual that made his eyes feel like they were bleeding), they at least recognized talent. 

But he’d heard strange things about American athletics, and those turned out to be true.

“Look, I’m sorry, dude,” said the high school senior who’d volunteered to oversee tryouts. Hoshi had managed to return every serve he was given with the same blinding speed that he’d been lauded for back home, but the guy’s sheepish expression as he pulled him aside made it blindingly clear to him that something had gone sour before he’d even opened his mouth. “But we have a certain criteria for… height, and stuff. It’s an image thing.”

He was never one for holding his tongue about his own personal opinions, and he never would be, and he especially wasn’t now. “You’re kidding me,” he mumbled, more to himself than to the other guy. He regarded him with his full, fishy-eyed stare that made the other grit his teeth slightly. “Uh… is there anything I can do to change your mind? Look, I got credentials. I can-”

The other (much taller) guy shook his head. “No can do, man. Sorry,” and he turned back to the other tryhards. For a fleeting moment, the bitter thought that they were only there to impress others crossed his mind, but he stormed off before it could become anything more than that. Hoshi pulled his track jacket over his shoulders and slung his racquet case behind his back, letting the gate to the tennis court that the school was using quietly shut behind him. 

Having no place to go other than home, he decided to take a roundabout route if only to better occupy his time. He was awash in his own thoughts, so he didn’t really pay attention to where he was going - he figured that he wouldn’t stray more than a couple blocks away. Hoshi just really needed to blow off some steam. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he walked along somewhat aimlessly - that is, until he collided head-on with a person’s side.

“Oof-”

“Oi, hey!” barked the person, reeling back from him. It caught him by surprise at first, but he managed to regain his bearings quickly. The encounter had brought him back to reality, at least, and he stared up at the face of the same girl from a few days earlier. She wasn’t in any of his other classes, and he’d remembered to bring gym clothes after that first day, so they hadn’t talked much. 

The girl (what was her name again? Sara?) put a hand to the side of her head and cracked her neck. “What was it you said? That we gotta stop running into each other like this? Seriously, I feel like I’m in some shitty meet-cute rom-com.”

Hoshi sighed, not really in the mood for jokes. “Guess things just work out that way, sometimes.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing his discontentment. “Did something…” he could see her trying to put two and two together in her head. Eventually, it clicked, and her eyes widened. “Ah. I forgot that was today,” she nodded in the direction of his racquet case. “I coulda told you that sports people around here are image-obsessed. Bet half of ‘em are doing it to impress girls and the other half are doing it for scholarships.”

“...Yeah,” he pulled his cap down slightly on his head, not having much to say in response. All he really wanted to do was lie in a hole for a while.

Seia stared at him, expression stony as ever. A few pedestrians passed the two by, none of them offering them more than a quick glance. As tempting as it was for Hoshi to bid her goodbye and actually go home like he should have done, something kept him grounded there. 

Then, she blinked and tugged at the collar of her shirt. “Hey,” she mumbled. “Do you like coffee?”

 

It turned out that an installment of a popular coffee chain was only a block away. He’d been about to take out his wallet, but she’d given him a look, pulled a credit card out of one of her stockings, and handed it to the cashier. Her meaning was obvious, so he had shut up for the time being.

She ordered something he’d never heard of called a flat white, while he’d gone for a frappuccino piled with whipped cream and chocolate syrup. Seia eyed it with obvious distaste as he plunked it on the table she’d chosen and climbed up on the chair.

“You really drink that garbage?”

Hoshi shrugged. “I like sweet things, I guess… also, I really don’t like coffee that much. It’s just that you deeply intimidate me on more levels than I’d care to admit, and if I turned you down you'd beat me up or somethin’.”

Smirking, she reclined in her seat. “So I’ve been told. By a lot of people.”

The two of them sat for a while, neither being sure how to fill the void of conversation that rested between them. The only thing that prevented it from being completely awkward silence was the chatter of other customers and the fact that there seemed to be some kind of mutual understanding between them. Hoshi watched as Seia brought her cup to her lips, noticing only at the last second that it was too hot. Her cheeks flushed as she drank, and she appeared rather frazzled when she put the cup down, but she had nothing to say about the fact that she had just chugged down too-hot coffee. Maybe it was some kind of personal pride thing. 

After a while, she put her cup down and gazed (somehow, unblinking) into his eyes. “As much as I wanna say that this was some random act of charity,” she began, “I wanted to ask you about something. Make a proposal, if you will.”

This piqued his interest. Trying not to betray his newfound intrigue (and failing, somewhat), he fiddled with the straw poking out of his plastic cup. “Huh? What do you mean by that?” Hoshi asked. 

“Let’s face it. You’re kind of on the outs right now, right?” Seia leaned over and started to dig through her backpack as she spoke. “With the tennis club and all. And I’m pretty sure you can’t practice for the  _ goddamn U.S. Open _ by smacking a ball against the wall for hours.”

“That’s not even what I was planning to-”

She held up a hand. “Yo. Patience, kemosabe.” After a few minutes, she pulled a marble notebook out of her bag and slapped it on the table. “I looked up some of your matches online, and I compiled some strategic shit. Give it a look.”

Hoshi flipped through the notebook’s pages and found himself astonished by the sheer amount of text this girl had written up. There were even some scribbled diagrams in the margins. When he looked up, the expression on his face was incredulous. “Oh, wow. This is… this is a lot! How did you-”

“So here’s my proposal,” he could have sworn that a smile crossed her face at that second. “Competition’s comin’ up in a couple of months. I wanna be your manager.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“I mean, I need  _ something _ to write my college essays about. And this is the opportunity of a lifetime.” Seia stuck out a hand towards him. “I think it’d work out. We got a deal?”

He didn’t even need to think it over. “Deal,” he agreed, placing his hand in hers and giving it a firm shake. 

She snorted. “Fuck, your hands are tiny.”

 

* * *

 

The next few weeks passed in a blur - Seia managed to find him several fairly adept tennis players around the area who were raring for a fight, and he welcomed their challenges with open arms. The same arms, in fact, that he used to smash his way through every one of them with relative ease. The matches were fairly easy, but they still got him to work up a sweat. 

The strategies she had planned out also proved to be a great help - despite claiming to be terrible at sports, the girl did know her way around them. Hoshi really had never heard of people putting this much intensive planning into any sport other than maybe American football, but he was by no means complaining. It worked, and it worked very well. 

She was usually waiting on the side of the court at the end of those games, water bottle (and occasionally some candy, since he definitely wasn't above those kinds of indulgences) in hand. She'd toss it to him, he'd catch it, and then they'd usually settle into one of their comfortable silences while he regained his bearings. 

Seia only had praises to offer him occasionally, but these instilled him with a feeling almost stronger than he'd gotten from anything his old tennis club had to say to him. A simple “You did good”, as rare as they were, was enough to make his chest feel light. 

Though, not in a bad way. 

 

He received a text from her at one point asking him to come over to her apartment. She'd refused to answer exactly why she wanted him there, simply giving him her address and nothing more. 

Following the directions took him to a fairly large apartment complex laden with ramshackle brown bricks. An old calico cat slumbered in the sun by the entrance, and he took a moment to scratch it behind the ears before entering. Cats were clever. Buildings they hung around were most likely trustworthy. 

The elevator ride was long and monotonous, punctuated only by faint synthy music. While quiet, it filled the car like hot gas, practically stifling every breath he tried to take. Hoshi practically fell out of the elevator when the bell dinged and the doors slid open. After that, it was only a matter of following the numbers on the door plates until he reached the one indicated in her message. 

The door was slightly ajar, so he gave it a quick knock. No response. Hoshi did hear footsteps behind it, however, so he quietly let himself in. Before he had time to take in his surroundings, a high pitched beeping noise suddenly began sounding from what he assumed was the kitchen. This was followed by a loud “Fuck!” and a slamming noise. 

Alarmed, Hoshi dashed over to the source of the noise before stopping short in the doorway to the kitchen. As expected, Seia was standing there. What he didn't expect was for her to be wearing too-big oven mitts and holding what appeared to be a rock on a plate. The girl was slumped over and panting as if she had just run a marathon. While the oven’s door was shut, it was still trying to belch smoke. 

Hoshi's eyes met hers and they stared at each other for a while, neither particularly sure what to say to each other about their encounter. Then, both of them spoke at the same time. 

“What… what happened here?”

“Uh, you came early.”

Seia straightened up considerably, still clutching the plate close to her chest. Her eyes were wide, though whether it was from stress or embarrassment was anyone's guess. 

Hoshi gestured towards the item on the plate - upon closer inspection, it wasn't a rock, but it might as well have been. The thing’s surface was black, and little air bubbles poked up from it like warts on the back of a toad. “What exactly  _ is _ that?” he asked somewhat tentatively, eyeing the smoking oven. 

She sighed, pushing her headband back on her head. “I, uh… I tried to make a cake,” she muttered, setting the offending object down on the counter behind her. “It's been, like, two months since we started workin’ together, and I know you like sweet stuff,” her disappointment was evident on her face as she wrung her hands hopelessly. “But I've never baked. I probably should have considered that before I… started baking.” 

Hoshi thought for a moment, unsure of exactly how to proceed with the situation. In the end, he decided to throw caution to the wind. He walked into the room and over to the kitchen counter where she had put the “cake”. Realizing that he was a bit short to reach it, he dragged a chair from the kitchen table to the counter, put it into position, and clambered up on that. 

Seia’s expression as he picked off a clump of cake between his fingers was skeptical. “What are you doing?” she asked, cheeks still red with what he could only assume was embarrassment. 

“You went through the effort of makin’ this for me, right?” Hoshi appeared pensive. Seia began to open her mouth, but he continued. “If you did that much, then who am I to not try it?” He smiled. Before Seia could say anything else, he popped the piece of cake into his mouth. 

The flavor was… indescribable, he noted as he chewed. As was the texture. The nature of the thing that she had managed to “bake” eluded him the more he thought about it. The girl looked like she wanted to die right there, so he turned his attention away from the thing he had just eaten and towards her. 

“It’s…” He made a vague gesture with his hand, not really sure where to begin. “There’s a lot of flavors here? It’s very complex, and stuff…”

She snorted. “It sucks, I know.”

But Hoshi, despite the aftertaste that was starting to populate the back of his throat, shook his head. “I like it, actually.”

Seia stared at him for a brief moment, as if sizing him up. Then, she gently closed her eyes and smirked. “You’re one strange bird, Ryoma,” she stated, “But I like that about you,” Eyeing the remains of the rock that had once been a cake on the counter, she suddenly became more alert. “Screw this. Let’s go get some ice cream or something instead.”

He grinned. “Sounds good to me.”

 

* * *

 

Hoshi was never sure exactly when they had started “dating”, or when their feelings had converged in such a way that that became an applicable term. It just happened one day, in a way that he could never figure out how to articulate. It was as if he woke up one morning and knew with a certainty that if a random passerby stopped him on the sidewalk and asked him about that girl, with all her cynicism and disgusting smoking habits and her complete ineptitude when it came to sugarcoating anything, that he would have been able to say that he loved her.

And though she never vocalized it very often, it was clear to him that she felt the same. He could tell by the way that she no longer tensed up when he put his hand on her shoulder, and how as much as she ragged on others, she would occasionally offer him compliments and blush when he questioned her about them.

It was simple, and never truly spoken, but it was enough.

 

Hoshi was also never sure exactly when the letters started coming. He’d glanced at the first one briefly before tossing it in the garbage bin, not too concerned with them. From the looks of it, he wouldn’t be surprised if the event advertised turned out to be some sort of Nigerian-prince-email-esque scam. But they kept arriving, week after week, until he was forced to actually read them. 

The return address was smeared on every envelope, making it impossible to tell where they came from. The contents were fairly simple. A note typed up on expensive paper, inviting him to some kind of underground tournament. This intrigued him at first, but he soon realized that such an event was hosted by members of the mafia. This interest then turned to simple disgust, and he continued to throw the letters out. But the problem was that they just kept coming, and he was running out of creative ways to dispose of them. 

 

* * *

 

There came a time when he realized that for all she had done for him, he’d offered little to her except for his own company. And while she never asked him for anything in particular (she claimed that having something to do with her time was enough), there was still a nagging feeling in Hoshi’s gut that told him that he  _ did _ owe her  _ something _ . After all, who knows what he might have been doing after his unceremonious rejection from the tennis club if he hadn’t bumped into her?

It was under these circumstances that he’d invited her to the same court he’d walked out of that fateful day. The fact that it was a lazy Sunday meant that the club wasn’t practicing there, leaving it open to anyone who happened to want to play. And at the moment, he was a part of that “anyone”.

He’d been sitting on the bench on the side of the court for a few minutes now, letting his legs dangle loosely several inches off the ground. His well-worn racquet rested on the seat beside him, serving as a companion of sorts. Another one was laid against the bench. Lifting the brim of his cap slightly, he watched as patches of clouds rolled laconically across the blue sky. 

Seia showed up not too long after, her expression set in its normal unamused state as she stepped onto the court. Under her jacket, she was wearing one of the ugliest t-shirts Hoshi had ever seen - one featuring a simple drawing of a lobster and the words  _ CAJUN JOE’S CRAB EATERY _ in brush-stroke red letters. 

“Is a crab eatery where you eat crabs, or where crabs go to eat?” he joked as she walked towards him. She opened her mouth to respond, then appeared to actually consider the question, leaving them in an awkward state of silence. 

After a while, she scratched the back of her head. “So what are we doing here, exactly? You ain’t got any matches, or anything like that. So what’s up with-”

Hoshi smirked. Before she could continue, he took the racquet that was on the ground and tossed it to her, leaving the girl to fumble in an attempt to catch it. “I wanna teach you somethin’ for a change,” he explained. “We’re gonna play.”

One of her heavy eyebrows shot up. “We’re… what.” Seia gaped, eyes darting from left to right. Once she came to her senses, she shook her hands with an air of refusal. “No way, man. I already told you that I suck at sports. Like, I will trip on a ball and die or something. You have no idea what you’re up against.”

“Normally people say that last thing when they’re tryin’ to pose an actual threat, but okay,” he picked up his own racquet and expertly twirled it around in his hands. “It’ll be fine, don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you.”

“Great. That’s so… reassuring.” 

Hoshi hopped off of the bench. He gestured for her to move to the other side of the court. Seia’s lip curled, but she huffily complied with his request. Once they were both in position, he held up his racquet and traced a circle on the center of it with his finger. “You’re gonna want to hit the ball right here, m’kay?” he called to her. “Otherwise, it might bounce off in another direction.”

She mumbled something that he couldn’t make out, but from her stance and the way that she tried to grip the racquet, he could tell that she had accepted his challenge.

Hoshi grinned.

 

“Uh, that was a little too slow. Maybe try stepping forward?”

“That time, it was too fast…” 

“Oof, uh…”

“Okay, I don’t even know what you’re trying to do here.”

In the hour since their little game had started, it had become clear to him that she wasn’t exaggerating about her athletic abilities. Seia was… completely and utterly hopeless. She’d managed to miss the ball in ways that he wasn’t sure were possible, and when she wasn’t doing that, she was either knocking them way out of the court or getting hit in the face by them. Hoshi had barely had to move the entire time, but the girl was nearly drenched in sweat. 

“Oh my god,” she muttered, pushing her headband further up on her head. “I’m actually going to die. Oh my god.”

He tilted his head in concern. “Do you need to take a break?”

“Yeah, that sounds… that sounds great.”

As he watched, she practically folded in on herself. Seia sank down to her knees in exhaustion. Before he even knew what was happening, she was laying on the ground, glassy eyes focused upwards at the sky. Concerned, he walked over to the other side of the court and looked down at her. The strangeness of the fact that he was looking down at someone for once didn’t quite register with him. She cast an idle gaze at him, but said nothing. And yet, something still compelled him to follow suit.

The next thing he knew, both of them were on their backs on the court. Hoshi put his hands behind his head, and watched the clouds plodding lazily over their backdrop of eggshell blue. For a while, neither of them spoke, but there was no need to.

It was him who broke the silence. “Y’know…” Hoshi sighed, though not dejectedly. “I kinda wish it was always like this.”

She snorted. “Laying belly-up on a tennis court?”

“You get what I mean,” He raised his right hand, loosely extending the pointer finger. “Just kind of… I don’t know. Hanging out, and stuff. With you.”

“Easy there, loverboy,” Seia laughed, a rare sound. “But yeah, I getcha. Never thought I’d be saying anything like this either, but… I want that too.”

“Hmph, you’re gettin’ sentimental. I’ll alert the presses.”

“Oh, shut up.”

The two just simply watched the world pass around them long into the afternoon, when they were chased off of the court by a few middle-aged women. But the feeling remained.

 

* * *

 

When Hoshi came home to eleven (he counted them multiple times) copies of that same god-awful letter crammed into his mailbox, he knew that he couldn't ignore them any longer. For the first time in ages, irritation pulsed through his veins. It was the kind that needed to be quelled through any means necessary. 

The day of the tournament was one where the pavement was wet with steamy rain that had a distinct smell to it. Hoshi took the subway (dirty, once again) close to where the address listed on the card was, but still had a few blocks to go. So with an umbrella slung over his shoulder like a gun, he walked along, his blood practically simmering in his veins.

The tennis court was located in the basement of a large, expensive-looking building. It was fitting that an underground tennis tournament was taking place quite literally underground, but the play on words was lost on him. All he wanted was to do what he had to do and get out of there.

But for once, what he had to do was  _ not _ winning.

There were a few mafia lackeys hanging about the court’s lobby - he’d never seen a court with a lobby before. A few of them lifted their heads in greeting, but he didn’t acknowledge it. 

Hesitantly, he put down the umbrella by the door and made his way over to a group of the men.

Hoshi jabbed a finger into one of the men’s side, prompting him to turn his attention down towards him. Just as planned. He waggled his finger at him in a gesture to get him to lean down. It worked flawlessly, and the man bent over, as if expecting him to have something to say to him.

So it came as a huge surprise when he landed a punch squarely on his cheek.

The next half hour was a blur.

 

The tennis player surveyed the room - more specifically, at the bodies that littered the floor. Not dead, god forbid. But either unconscious or incapacitated beyond the point of moving to stop him. Without a word, he retrieved his umbrella from the doorway and walked out, letting it click behind him.

Though he’d chided Seia for doing it when they had first met, for the first time in his life, he felt like he really, really needed a smoke.

 

* * *

 

When winter vacation came around, Seia professed that she wasn’t really planning on doing anything in particular. It wasn’t like her family was the kind of family that was able to afford ritzy vacations, and she had already established that her friend count was… somewhat lacking. 

“What do you do normally, then?” he had asked her when the subject was brought up.

She merely shrugged. “I sleep late.”

He couldn’t really argue with that. 

But the money gained from his matches was piling up - not only that, but he was stricken with a strange sort of longing - it  _ had _ , to be fair, been a long while since he had seen his family. And he figured that a two-week period was more than enough time to pay them a visit. 

He’d also asked her to come along with him - originally, she had refused, stating that she didn’t want him to have to pay for her. But he insisted (citing her earlier statement about the fact that she barely did anything over break to begin with), and she eventually caved to his demands. 

And so it was that he found himself on a fourteen-hour flight back to Japan, with the girl he loved asleep on the seat next to him. Her breathing was soft and even, her prone face unusually peaceful considering her typical demeanor. Despite the fact that the plane was cramped, he allowed himself to relax. 

Life was good, for now. 

 

“Did you tell ‘em that you were coming?”

The question was posed to him once they got to a hotel - a small, somewhat ramshackle place owned by an old couple, with that kind of hotel decor that looked as though it hadn’t been changed in ten years. Seia had positioned herself cross-legged on the bed, and was lazily scrolling through her phone as Hoshi paced about. 

He paused and glanced up at her. “No, I didn’t,” he admitted. “I thought I’d surprise them, or something. It’s kind of been a while, and I keep forgetting to text…” 

She snorted. “That’s cute,” she said, leaning over to ruffle his hair. He felt his face redden, but did nothing to stop her. “Well, if you’re gonna go and do that on your own, I’m gonna go shopping, or something,” Pulling one leg out from under the other, she hopped off of the bed, gave him a wayward glance, and walked out the door. 

 

For the first time in months, Hoshi took a bullet train. He would have marvelled at just how clean it was in comparison to the subways he had grown used to, but his thoughts were elsewhere. There would be no strange girls to stumble across on this train. Still, he was finally heading home after months away from the place that he had grown up.

It… had been a while since he had talked to his family, hadn’t it? He hoped that they were doing alright. 

The train ride felt fairly short considering the distance. The walk up to the house, too, was short, but that was because he had lived there for so long. Eventually, he found himself standing at the entryway. Though the door was closed, he could see vague pencil tick marks on the frame from where his mom used to measure his height.

(The top line was shaded exceptionally darker than the others.)

Jamming his hand into his pocket, Hoshi fumbled about until his fingers grasped his key fob. He stuck one of the keys into the lock - only to find that the door wasn’t actually locked. 

Convenient. 

Hoshi pushed the door open with a gentle creak. Upon entering, he found that the lights were all turned off, and that there was a permeating silence that filled the place. Maybe his family was out, he considered. But the car was in the driveway, so… 

“Oi!” he called down the hallway, hoping that the sound of his voice would rouse anyone who was present. “Anyone home? I came to visit, and-”

A squelching noise made him stop dead in his tracks. As slowly as he could, Hoshi looked down at the floor - and noticed that one of his white sneakers was on top of a patch of bloodied carpet. Now that he looked, he noticed many spots of blood on the floor. His stomach practically leapt to his throat as he began to realize that they led to the family room. 

Unfortunately for him, he was (at the time) the kind of person who curiosity frequently got the best of. Slowly, he crept towards the room and peeked past the entryway… 

Hoshi stared at the scene within for a second that felt like an eternity. Then, his hand flew to his mouth and he sank to his knees. 

You could call that the beginning of the end.

 

* * *

 

While it unfortunately would not be his last time riding in a police car, he could safely say at the time that this was his first. It was barely memorable, though - the entire period of time after he found the remains of his family escaped him. Someone-or-other had heard him yell and called the police, and an officer who introduced himself as what’s-his-face had taken him aside for brief questioning. 

If anyone had asked him after what the questions were or what he answered them with, though, he wouldn’t have had an answer. His head hurt. Did his head always hurt?

There would be investigations, of course, even though he was  _ sure _ he knew who had done it. The remnants of callouses on his hands from the underground match that seemed so long ago were a testament to the people who were hellbent on getting revenge on him. But callouses were worthless in a court of law. And to confess his involvement would mean to incriminate himself. In between a rock and a hard place indeed. 

In the police car, all he could do was stare down at his pants (still spattered with not-yet-dry bloodstains from the carpet) and curse himself for his impulsiveness. Maybe if he hadn't gotten cocky, he wouldn't have become a goddamn orphan. 

The car pulled up at the hotel quite a bit later, and the officer walked him back to his room - they would need time, he said in the voice of a sheepish father, to investigate. Hoshi had somehow managed to mumble reassurances that they didn't need to call child services, that he was fine, he was fine, he was  _ completely fucking fine _ . 

Seia had gotten back from her errands quite a bit earlier, and she was intently staring at her phone as if she was trying to melt it with her eyes when Hoshi jammed his key in the doorknob and forced it open. Upon his entrance, she shot up. “Hey, what the hell were you- I texted you like a thousand times, and you didn't even-” she paused to look up at the policeman behind him. “...Who’s this?” 

Hoshi couldn't even look at her. 

He brushed past her with his usual speed, and before another word could leave her mouth, he had locked himself in the hotel bathroom. He could hear her calls of “Ryoma? R-ryoma!” but they may as well have been white noise. As he leaned his forearm against the wall, he could hear the hushed conversation that she and the officer were having. Their crestfallen tones were painfully evident. 

Hoshi’s lip trembled, and he put his other hand to his mouth to keep from screaming. The scene was almost laughable. There he was - weak, pathetic him, nearly crying his eyes out in a shoddy bathroom. An onlooker would have never pegged him as the cocky athlete that he was. 

Disgusting. 

 

The time that passed may have been minutes, may have been hours - it was impossible to discern the passage of time under the meager fluorescent bulbs in the bathroom ceiling. But sooner or later, there came a hesitant knock from the other side of the door that made Hoshi freeze up. 

“...Hey,” came her voice from behind the door, much softer than usual. Vulnerable, too, as if she were the one who was discarding her armor. “You alright in there?”

In spite of everything, he managed to choke out a “Yeah”. Despite the word only being one syllable, his voice cracked weakly in the middle, and it made him cringe.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” there was a pause, followed by a harsh cough. “Actually, don’t answer that. You don’t have to.”

“Alright. I don’t.”

“Right.”

Several more minutes of silence followed, uninterrupted save for a dragging noise that told him that she had sat down and was likely leaning against the wall by the bathroom door. The robin’s-egg blue floor tiles were beginning to blur together into one blue mass for Hoshi, though whether that was from looking at them for too long or the watering of his eyes was anyone’s guess. 

It became clear that she had no idea what to say, but for that he was relieved. Any kind of sympathetic platitudes probably would have only made him feel worse. He knew they would come once the incident hit the news, from people who only knew him from his achievements. His achievements, which were the entire cause of it. No one would be able to see that it was his own damn fault. 

He kept repeating that to himself, even when it had long since set in.

Even the bathroom became suffocating, eventually, so he forced himself to stumble with the doorknob and let himself out. She was sitting against the wall, just like he thought she would be, but the normal sharpness was gone from her expression. It left her looking drained and lukewarm. Still, when he emerged from the doorway, she sat up suddenly. Her eyes were wide, though it looked like they were trying not to be. 

The silence between them was palpable as Hoshi stared down at her, sighed, and plopped himself down beside her. 

All he could do was sit and try not to flinch as she put her arm around him.

 

That night was a long one.

Hoshi found his own limbs entangled with Seia’s in the rickety hotel bed - her breathing had long since evened out. He almost wished he could envy her, being awake himself, but much heavier thoughts weighed on his mind. 

The gravity of the situation took a long time to settle in. As he stared vacantly at his own hands, he tried to think things through, almost as if he were having a conversation with himself. 

_ Why did this happen? _ Asked the voice inside his head, much calmer than Hoshi felt.

_ Because of me, _ he found himself answering.  _ Because I upset the mafia. _

_ Why did you upset the mafia? _

_ Because I was cocky. _

_...And? _

_ I mean, I guess I beat some guys up. It was probably that. _

_ Who did they kill? _

_ My… family. My parents, at least.  _

_ Is there anyone else at risk? _

The world came into sharp, saturated focus around him. The soft breathing by his ear became a death march, moving at an inescapable pace.

_ Oh. _

That was all there was to say.

_ Well, what are you going to do? _

He allowed himself one last look at the girl who he had come to be so fond of - she looked almost peaceful while she slept, her dyed hair lying limply on the pillow. Dirty blonde roots were beginning to poke up at the center of her scalp.

That was the first time in his life that he decided to disallow himself something.

_ What I have to. _

 

* * *

 

 

The same airport they had arrived in the country in now bustled with activity. The place was full to the brim with people of all shapes and sizes carrying briefcases, duffel bags, pet carriers. All hurrying. People with somewhere to be.

People with  _ direction _ . The sensation of possessing it was slipping away from him like sand through his fingertips. It made him grip his own bag tighter just so that he would have something to hold onto. 

Seia grumbled about traffic or something similarly mundane as they walked through the entryway and into the check-in. The last few days had been full of a distinct aversion to discussing what had happened to Hoshi - they had mostly been doing other things. But nothing was enough to distract him, as much as she tried.

“Yo,” she said, snapping him out of his stupor. “Do you have your ticket?” She had come to a stop right before the check-in, and had pulled a rumpled slip of paper out of her pocket. 

He felt a lump beginning to form in his throat, despite the fact that he had rehearsed what he was going to say in his head a million times over. “Well, actually,” he started, but the words somehow escaped him as soon as he had gotten the first two out.

Concern began to manifest on Seia’s face. “There something wrong?” she asked, glancing down at him. Hoshi had to force himself to meet her eye. 

“I don’t. I’m not goin’ back.”

The statement proved easier to say than he had thought, but her reaction was just as difficult to stomach as he had predicted.

“You…” the surprise was slow to form on her face, but that didn’t make it any better. “You  _ what _ ? Ryoma, I-”

“Let me explain,” He put his hands up in a false display of calmness. “What happened to my parents was my fault.”

The expression on her face moved from confusion to horror as he talked, starting from the very first mafia letter to when he walked out of the building on that rainy day. He tried his hardest to make himself sound composed, but he couldn’t keep his voice from wavering now and again.

By the time he had concluded his sordid tale, Seia was practically in shock. “Ryoma…” she bit her lip. “You really should have told me. About the letters, and everything. God, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he muttered. “But the fact is that ‘cause of it, I pose a threat to most of the people I’m close to. And that includes you.”

“Wait, so you’re-”

“You have to go back,” it pained him to vocalize what he already knew. “You can’t end up like… that. This is the only way.”

“You’re kidding me,” her eyebrow was starting to twitch. “So you’re sending me away? Ryoma, I’m not leaving you alone. I can stick by you, and-”

“No, you can’t. You’ll just end up like the rest of ‘em.”

“Like the rest of-” she forced out a strangled laugh that caused several other people in the airport to warily glance at the two. “God, you are  _ so _ full of shit. Isolating yourself isn’t going to do anything, it’ll just make you more paranoid.”

“Sorry,” Hoshi said, clenching the bag tighter. “But I can’t be more paranoid than I already am, Seia. I’m really sorry.”

With that, he turned and ran out of the airport. He could hear her yelling after him, her shouts turning from angered to pained, but he forced himself not to make it register. He had done the right thing, he kept telling himself. But nothing was sure in his life anymore, and whether or not he thought it was right didn’t mean anything.

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t go back home, so he ended up crashing on the couch of one of the upperclassmen he knew from his old tennis club. News of what had happened to him had spread fast, but when he came to ask the friend for his services, he chalked up everything to a “breakup”. The guy seemed to realize that it wasn’t his place to pry, and implored him to stay as long as he needed to.

The next week or so was spent away from most everyone, mindlessly clicking through TV channels and smoking cigarettes. He’d picked up the habit, in spite of himself, just because he needed something to do. It was impossible to do it without thinking of the same cigarettes between her fingers, but he needed  _ something _ to keep him in check. 

His own self-imposed isolation lasted for what might have been ages or for no time at all - time moved in all sorts of strange ways when he wasn’t out doing something. But the calendar date read about a week later when a strange package arrived in the mail.

The guy he was staying with was out, so he was all alone in the darkened house. The doorbell rang suddenly, and he shuffled over to the door to answer - only to have the mailman shove a few envelopes and a tube-shaped box in his face and run back to his truck. As he watched the man drive away, Hoshi weighed the package in his hands - it was heavy, but he couldn’t tell what it could possibly be.

The fact that it was addressed to him, though, sent shivers down his spine. 

Had he told anyone that he was here?

Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, Hoshi slammed the door behind him, placed the letters on the kitchen table, and climbed back up on the couch. It was with a feeling of dread that he examined the tube once again, and it was with a feeling of dread that he held it away from him after he popped the lid off.

A single, small photograph fluttered out and landed gently and elegantly on the floor. He stared at it for a moment.

There came a sound from within the box, like something had shifted.

Then, an entire severed arm fell out and landed with a hard  _ thud _ on the floor.

His hand flew to his mouth as he reeled backwards from the limb - blood caked its stump, bits of bone shrapnel visible in the middle. Its limp fingers were painted with glossy black polish that had just began to chip, and they were bent at strange angles.

A black fabric headband was tied around its wrist.

The photograph included in the package proved his suspicions - there was no caption, no hints as to what had happened, but the tangle of dyed hair and three bloody bullet holes through the back of what had once been a clean white shirt was enough to confirm what he had dreaded.

He didn’t remember moving, but he somehow found himself folded over the toilet. As he stared down at the slurry of vomit and tears that had formed in the bowl (someone ought to clean that up), his thoughts lost coherency. Harsh noise rang in his ears, and for once, he did nothing to stop the tremors that were racking his hands. 

So it was clear, then. He was endangering everyone by the virtue of existing. He might as well die right there, Hoshi thought. What a bastard he was. He might as well die die die die die die d-

Unless.

Staggering to his feet, Hoshi absentmindedly turned on the sink. His hands shook as he rubbed them raw, trying to get rid of blood that wasn't there. Life's pretty short, he thought. 

When he managed to get out of the bathroom, the arm was still lying on the floor, but he forced himself to turn his attention away from it. Instead, his gaze fell upon a bookshelf where the upperclassman he was staying with kept his tennis trophies - though the lustrous cups on the top and middle shelves commanded attention, he had no interest in them. Instead, he walked over, knelt down, and grabbed something from the bottom shelf. He turned it over and over in his hand, letting it catch the faint ray of sunshine that filtered down from the skylight. 

The inklings of a plan began to form in his mind, and a strained smile cracked across his face as he pocketed the steel tennis ball. 

As he walked towards the front door of the house, he allowed himself a single glance backwards.

Someone would really have to do something about that arm.

Someone like him.

 

* * *

 

Hoshi didn’t sleep a wink the whole flight back.

 

* * *

 

A gentle snow blanketed the streets of Manhattan. The city that never slept was beginning to wind down, but Ryoma Hoshi was just getting started. Gathering intel was easy - he had money to spare, and in exchange for that, people had information. Boy, did they have information. 

There was a businessman with mafia connections who walked through a certain alleyway every day on the way home. He had two kids and liked to watch football on the weekends. Hoshi couldn’t have given less of a shit.

A cigarette dangled between his teeth as he leaned against one wall of the alley, biding his time. The buildings on either side of him cast a shadow over the area that was only broken up by the moonlight that trickled down among the snow. 

He wondered what she’d think of this. She’d probably yell at him again, but this was for the best. It was for her, after all. Her and his family.

Eventually, the man came staggering into the alley, right on time. His steps were uneven and his breath reeked with alcohol. It was time for Hoshi to make his move.

The man barely had time to react before he rammed the tennis ball into his head, shattering part of his frontal lobe in the process. The man slumped to his knees before falling forward, dying the snow crimson red. 

Hoshi dropped the ball on the ground, held out his hands, and looked up at the clouded sky. The weight of his sins had yet to register, but the weight of phantom hands on his shoulders had.

And so began the downward spiral.

**Author's Note:**

> [boop!](http://toyhou.se/974341.seia-kamio/gallery)
> 
> Mr. Morris was a gym teacher who worked at my school. I mainly remember him because I fell asleep in class once, and when i woke up, he gave me a wink and said nothing more. He retired this year. Thank you, Mr. Morris.
> 
> Chances are that if you follow ikuzonos's fics, you've seen Seia's character several times. I've been working on this behemoth for almost a month, and nearly abandoned it several times - I was vagued by someone i deeply admired because of this fic. I'm glad, at least, to finally get it out there.
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, please leave a kudos or comment! thank you, and have a great day c:


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